


Taken (or Yet Another Failed Date)

by emynii, ObliObla



Series: Nia & Obli's Whumptober 2019 [27]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: BAMF Chloe Decker, Blood, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Hurt Chloe Decker, Kidnapping, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 04, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 16:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynii/pseuds/emynii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: It was going to be a lovely date, but then Chloe got hit over the head. Now she's tied to a chair, blindfolded, and doesn't know where she is. Is the world going to end every time they try to have a nice evening out?For the Whumptober prompt: ransom
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Nia & Obli's Whumptober 2019 [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1502000
Comments: 24
Kudos: 375





	Taken (or Yet Another Failed Date)

**Author's Note:**

> We know it's November, but never fear. No prompt will be left unfilled.

“Who is this bitch anyway?” a man with the voice of a chain smoker asked.

“Some B-rate actress chick, really? Like those aren’t a dime a dozen.” This man sounded weedy and southern.

“The Devil’s girlfriend, apparently.” The last guy had the commanding tone of a man in charge.

Chloe bristled quietly from behind them, letting her head loll against her shoulder. She suspected they thought she was still unconscious after hitting her over the head in that damn alley she’d cut through. But she’d been awake enough in the van they’d tossed her into to know they’d gotten on the 10 and headed east from Venice. She gritted her teeth to combat the pounding in her skull, and pulled at the restraints behind her back. The zip tie cut into her wrists but held.

_ Shit. _

The southerner was talking again. “You believe that?” he asked doubtfully.

The Bossman scoffed. “What, that Lucifer Morningstar is the actual Devil?” He laughed. “He’s a rich idiot with more money than God. That’s all.”

Chloe tuned them out again and tried to get her bearings. She was tied to a chair, with her hands bound behind her back. She was blindfolded, and there was duct tape over her mouth. It was stuffy and close and smelled like beer, greasy food, and gasoline. She could just hear the sound of idle traffic on the street outside.

She was in a residential area, someone’s house. _ Shit, _ again.

The southerner was talking again. “What’s that damn movie called? Hey, darlin’”—and how dare he say that word with so little warmth—“what’s that movie you’re in called?”

Chloe ignored him, checking for injuries. There was a tender spot behind her left ear, burgeoning bruises on her knee, hip, and across the side of her ribs, and she had to keep swallowing back bile the nausea was so strong. She knew what happened when someone vomited while gagged.

A chair scraped against the floor as the man got up. When he grabbed her by the chin and pulled off the tape, she jerked her head instinctively, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. He smelled of stale sweat and cheap cologne, and her nausea redoubled.

Through the fog she heard him ask, “Hey, you awake? What’s that movie called?”

His breath was hot and wet against her face, and she considered continuing to pretend to be out, but she coughed roughly and gave up on it. “Citizen Kane.”

The man slapped her across the face.

She choked on her tongue, tasting blood as a ring on his finger gouged a cut under her eye. She panted desperately as he yelled something she couldn’t understand. He plastered the tape back over her mouth before she heard him return to the others. She tried to calm her breathing, testing the ache in her cheek and jaw.

So they were amateurs. She loosed a muffled cry from the pain that began to radiate outward from the impact. Amateurs were dangerous.

Goddammit, she’d only wanted to go on a date with her boyfriend.

The men started to play cards, the _ prrrft _ of the shuffles bouncing off the inside of Chloe’s abused skull. Her eyelids grew heavy under the blindfold, and she lost the thread of conversation several times.

_ Focus, Decker. _

She couldn’t fall asleep, not with the concussion she definitely had. But everything was getting hazy, and the air was thick and pulsing around her. Her ears rang, louder and louder, drowning everything else out. She couldn’t think; she couldn’t hear. She couldn’t _ anything. _

_ Shh, darling _ , a voice in her head whispered, and _ that _ was the tone that word should have. _ It’ll be alright, love. You know what to do. _

And she did know. She focused on her diaphragm, drawing air carefully into her lungs, letting it trickle from her nostrils. She counted her heartbeats, feeling them slow. She fought the vibrating insubstantiality, and managed to make out the men’s voices again. If she focused, she could stay awake.

If she stayed awake, she could stay alive.

The smoker was named Dale and had a girlfriend named Tanya who lived in the valley. The southerner was Purcell, and his family was from a little town outside of Macon. The boss they only called ‘boss’, and Chloe got the impression that desperation, not incompetence, had led him, at least, to this moment. And that was something she could maybe use.

That impression only strengthened when he got up to make the call far earlier than she’d expected, not letting her people stew in their own fear. He stepped behind her, prying her fist open to press her thumb against the button on her phone. She groaned as his motions jostled her most definitely bruised wrists. He didn’t go out of earshot, either, and she could hear the dial tone as he put the phone on speaker.

What was he even doing? Was this some attempt at intimidation?

“Detective!” Lucifer greeted brightly. “I was wondering why you were running a touch late for our date. Luca is despairing over his risotto, and—”

“We have Chloe Decker,” Bossman said, and Lucifer’s gentle chuckle died.

“Have you, now?” he asked, all his warmth abruptly gone as his voice shook with badly concealed rage.

“We want—”

“And why should I _ care _ what you want?” Lucifer asked roughly. “Why should I care about anything but how I’m going to torture you before I take you to Hell myself?”

“Because we have your girlfriend, devil boy. And if you want her back in one piece, you’ll do what I say.”

No sound came over the line for a long moment, but then something clawed from the speaker with a hideous growl, and the hairs on the back of Chloe’s neck rose. “Tell me,” Lucifer said silkily, “what do you desire?”

She heard Bossman audibly swallow and gather himself, but he sounded unaffected when he responded. “There’s a gun in your detective lady’s precinct evidence lockup. Murder, from a couple weeks ago in Inglewood.”

“Get to the point,” Lucifer hissed.

“I want it,” Bossman said. Purcell made a grumbling noise, and he continued. “And the drugs. Little Molly, little Coke. Nobody sees, nobody knows.”

Chloe expected Lucifer to question this, to wonder why this man thought he had access to evidence lockup, something he, as a consultant, shouldn’t have had in the first place. But he merely said, “It’s done.”

“We’ll call with a location,” Bossman said. “You have until midnight.”

“Fine.” Another flat response. “But I want proof of life,” he added coldly.

Bossman hissed and stomped over to Chloe. He grabbed her by the jaw, and she felt something cold and hard and familiar press against her temple. “You say _ any _weird shit, you’ll regret it.”

She nodded numbly, and he ripped the tape off again.

“Detective?” And he was just her Lucifer again. “Detective, are you—?”

“I’m here.” She coughed and tried to catch her breath.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Tears pricked at her eyes behind the blindfold. “I-I’m okay, Lucifer. I—” She inhaled sharply. 

“Have they harmed you?”

Bossman tapped her on the shoulder meaningfully.

“N-no…”

“I want a picture,” Lucifer said sharply.

Bossman laughed. “I’m sure you do. But you ain’t getting one.”

He snarled. “I will—”

“Lucifer, I’m _ fine,” _ Chloe said with as much energy as she could muster. “Please, just… do what they say.” It felt almost like a betrayal, but she needed to buy more time both to get her bearings and for Lucifer to try to find her.

“For you,” he said quietly.

She sniffed. “I love you.”

He exhaled softly. “I will come for you. I swear it.” Then, raising his voice, he continued, “And as for _ you, _ Mr. Kidnapper. You have yourself a deal. Your evidence for the detective, unharmed.”

Bossman hung up the phone without answering before dropping it on the table. “That damn GPS spoofer better’ve worked, Purcell.”

“My shit’s good, boss. Don’t get your panties in a twist. _ Christ.” _

_ Dammit. _ Chloe licked her chapped lips, wondering if she was to remain ungagged, now. She had no way to clue Lucifer in to her location. She didn’t trust any of these guys as far as she could throw them, and she knew Lucifer didn’t either, no matter the deal he’d made.

* * *

Chloe started losing time, barely managing to keep herself awake. With a blindfold over her eyes and the continued pounding in her head, she had no idea how long it had been.

The men were still playing cards, though they seemed increasingly bored. The topic shifted, slowly, from their own personal squabbles, to the matter at hand. Or, at least, something related.

“How’d you even know this Morningstar guy could get into evidence?” Purcell asked through a burp. The smell wafted over Chloe, and she wrinkled her nose.

Bossman folded with a grumble before replying. “Guy can’t keep his mouth shut about his cop lady girlfriend. Got them eating out of his hands down there.”

“Yeah, but… he’s just some club owner, right?”

Dale chuckled bitterly. “Sure, yeah, _ just _ some club owner.”

“What’re you on about?” Purcell asked doubtfully.

Bossman snickered. “Oh, Dale here thinks that jackass is actually the—”

“I don’t!” Dale cried. “I just think he’s a sketchy bastard who does sketchy shit.”

Bossman scoffed. _ “We’re _ sketchy bastards who do sketchy shit.”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust _ us _either.”

Purcell laughed. “He’s got a point, boss.”

“Look," Bossman said with a frustrated huff, “didn’t you hear about how he got George off on that B&E last year? Didn't cost him nothin' but an IOU.”

“And that ain’t sketchy?”

"And Saul? Saved Saul's _ ass _when he lost that kilo."

Chloe slumped back to her chair. She was thirsty, hungry, and her head ached from trying to pay attention. She knew Lucifer was still into various criminal dealings, but it was easier not to think about most of the time. Especially not _ now, _ and she bit her tongue, trying to maintain focus.

“You scared of some kinda Good Samaritan, Dale?” Purcell asked.

Dale only sighed.

Chairs scraped. “We need to eat,” Bossman said. “Purcell go get some pizza or something. I gotta hit the head.”

The door slammed shut, and Chloe could hear only Dale, breathing a little anxiously.

Chloe took a deep breath, steeling herself. “You know he really is the Devil, right?”

He didn’t speak, but she could imagine the look on his face, the disbelief nearly everyone displayed, but she kept pushing. “You don’t have to believe that—”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t.”

“—but you _ should _believe that he’s a bad enemy to have.”

“He-he’s just a club owner.”

“You know he’s more than that,” she chided gently. She remembered something the Bossman had said earlier. “_ You _ didn’t leave any evidence at that scene in Inglewood, did you?”

He made a sharp, rough sound in the back of his throat.

“Were you even there at all?”

“I—” He blew out a breath. “Look, we… we’re in this together.”

Chloe made herself shake her head though it made the nausea rise even worse than before. “Not if you let me go.”

“I don’t…”

“You can still make this right.” When he scoffed she changed tack. “You can make this right with me, with _ him. _ The cops don’t have to get involved, and…” She chewed her lip for a moment. “Maybe he’ll owe _ you _ a favor.”

He didn’t speak, but she knew he was considering it. She just had to find the right key, like in interrogation. Like what Lucifer did, she imagined, sometimes: reaching out to find the lock in their brains that held all their secrets.

“I’m sure you’ve heard he doesn’t lie. Doesn’t break deals.”

“What?” Dale sounded almost panicked now.

She shrugged a shoulder, feeling her whole body ache. “My phone’s sitting right in front of you. All you have to do is call, have him promise to leave you be, tell him where I am… Nobody will come looking for you.” And then the clincher, and she expected it to be difficult to say, but there was nothing easier than to tell him, “Think about Tanya. You know how people can get caught up in circumstances through no fault of their own.”

He exhaled slowly but didn’t interrupt.

“Think about _ her _safety, even if you don’t care about your own. After all, there were only two kidnappers, right? Purcell and…?”

“Dawson. Jack Dawson.”

“Purcell and Dawson, they brought me here. Invented a patsy, but he had nothing to do with it.”

And she had him. She heard him pick up the phone, get up, walk over to her. She unclenched her hand to make her thumb easier to get to, and…

A door opened with a horrible creak somewhere in the house, and Dale jumped back, dropping the phone back on the table before Dawson reentered. 

“What’re you doing, Dale?”

“Nothing, boss.”

_ Fuck. _

* * *

Purcell returned with the pizza after a few more painful minutes where Chloe tried desperately not to pass out. It had taken a lot out of her to try to argue Dale down, and for nothing, ultimately.

The pizza only made her nauseous, but she was _ so _ hungry she hardly complained when someone shoved some at her face, even if she could feel the grease slip wetly down her chin.

When the men had finished eating, Purcell left to dump the trash and Dale to start the van.

Dawson got up and slapped more duct table over her mouth. There went her plan to try to talk _ him _ down_. _ He leaned down to whisper harshly into her ear. “I’m not scared of your boyfriend. You try to escape, I don’t care what deal we made. Got it?”

Blindfolded and gagged, Chloe was deprived of both eye rolling and sarcastic quipping, but she hoped the flaring of her nostrils and her general demeanor got the point across.

Rough hands undid the ropes, and she considered trying to fight anyway, but outnumbered, blind, and in unfamiliar territory, she knew her chances were more than slim. She’d seen something like desperation in him, before, and had thought she could exploit it. But it only made him more dangerous, now.

He hauled her up and was joined by Purcell, and, together, they carried her to a garage, again throwing her into the back of a van. Her head smacked against a hard surface, and she lost time, tasting blood in her mouth. When she came back to herself, they were on the highway. Eventually, they pulled off onto a quiet street. A few minutes later Dale parked the van, and the men got out.

The doors were opened, and she kicked out, gritting her teeth against the pain even as her breaths came harsh through her nose. She hit someone, she was certain, but they didn’t loosen their grip, and soon she was being pressed to freezing concrete.

The ziptie was snipped open, sending blood flowing painfully through her hands, but then another one was fastened around her wrists as she was bound to a metal support pole that came out of the concrete floor. Her legs were free, but felt like lead from being tied to a chair for hours. It was cold and wet and smelled like diesel and dead fish. The men’s voices echoed a little in the space as they got settled.

The docks. She was in a warehouse by the docks.

Dawson made a call, finally keeping his voice low enough Chloe couldn’t hear it, before reconvening with his men. “When he shows up, me and Purcell’ll go to get the evidence. Dale, you stay here with the gun and guard her. Anything goes wrong, you shoot her. Everything goes right, we vacate, guy gets the girl, we get the hell out of dodge. Clear?”

“Yeah,” Purcell said.

Dale mumbled something in affirmation.

When Lucifer came, everything would probably be fine. She had to believe that; she _ did _ believe that. But if the deal went through, they might lose the evidence. Even if she waited until the exchange and things went sideways… the evidence still might be lost in the shuffle. She remembered the Inglewood murders, vaguely, now. Triple homicide. Drug deal gone wrong. Nasty stuff. And if she allowed this to go down like they’d planned, they’d be scotfree and the victim’s family may never find peace.

And that was unacceptable, even if the alternative put Chloe in more danger. She’d signed up for this; she could handle it.

They were still distracted talking, and she started to slowly pull her legs in, her feet flat on the concrete. She carefully pushed her back against the support column, and pressed her weight into it, sliding upward. Her thighs trembled and her spine hurt. She couldn’t be sure that no one was looking, but no one yelled, no one stopped her. She gritted her teeth, trying to not cry out from the ache in her arms, her legs, her head.

When she managed to get fully to her feet, she panted softly. Now all she had to do was get the ziptie off. But before she could, Purcell was yelling, having finally noticed her.

“Hey, what are you doing?” His steps were loud, and Chloe focused on them over everything else, trying to figure out where he was, waiting for—

Her foot snapped up and caught him with a dull, meaty thud. She heard him fall backward and whimper and knew she’d hit her target. She knew she only had a moment, so she raised her arms as high as she could, swinging her wrists down as fast as possible. They slammed against the bars, but the ziptie still didn’t break. 

She shouted in frustration, but then there were hands on her arms, her shoulder, grabbing at her, and she kicked her heel back into what she could tell from the stink of cigarettes and the hesitation in his grip was Dale. He groaned, and she put all her weight into yanking herself free of the ziptie. And it worked; she heard the plastic snap, but then she was falling, and she couldn’t bring her arms forward fast enough before…

_ Smack. _

Pain shot in jagged spikes through her face as she heard her nose crunch against the ground. Everything felt hot and wet, aching, yet numb at the same time, and her cheeks were on fire. Her shoulders throbbed where they’d impacted the ground, her breasts and hips and knees sore from the force.

But she was vulnerable prone, so she forced herself to roll over, to try to stand even as Dale and Purcell must have been approaching. Someone grabbed at her ankle, and she kicked out, scrambling backward.

Her hand met a thin metal bar, and she gripped it hard, still moving. When someone grabbed her hair, she hit out at them, beating the thing against everything she could reach until their grip went slack. She moved as quickly as she could, and her back met a wall. She pulled herself up with what felt like the last of her strength, her pulse so strong it was making her shake. She ripped away the blindfold and the duct tape, blinking in the sudden brightness of the warehouse lights. The thing in her hand was a crowbar, it turned out, and the three men were advancing on her. Glancing left and right, she realized there was no escape.

“You’ll regret that,” Purcell hissed, spitting blood. He seemed to have lost a few teeth and his face was already bruising. Dale was limping, eyes wide with indecision, darting between Chloe, Dawson, and the door. Dawson looked uninjured, and he smiled.

“Fuck the Devil and his threats. Come on, boys, let’s—”

But whatever he was going to say died in his throat when Chloe shot forward, landing a hard blow to Purcell’s head. He swayed for a moment before collapsing.

Dawson sputtered as Chloe turned to him. He didn’t have a weapon, though he was much larger than she was. She struck out, but he caught the crowbar, throwing a punch that caught her in the shoulder, flaring the pain there, before he tightened his hand around her upper arm.

“Shoot her, Dale!” Dawson panted. But Dale’s hands were trembling when Chloe managed to catch a glimpse of him as she wrestled with Dawson.

“I-I…”

The bolted heavy metal door on the other side of the room slammed open, denting the metal wall it impacted, and a figure strode into the room with the inexorability of a predator that knew that no matter how far its prey ran, it would always catch it. Its skin was shifting repeatedly between something human and something _ not, _ its black suit seemed to be smoking slightly, and its eyes were roiling with flames.

“Lucifer…” Chloe breathed.

Dale took one look at the Devil, dropped the gun, and ran for the side door. Chloe managed to knock Dawson far enough back to swing the crowbar, catching him in the side of the face, and he toppled backward, joining Purcell on the floor.

She watched as the fires in Lucifer’s eyes cooled, and tried to smile, or grimace, or even cry out, but she could do none of these things. She was, suddenly, _ so _ tired, and she swayed on her feet, falling to her knees on the concrete with another jolt of pain.

She half expected Lucifer to chase Dale, whose rapid footsteps were still audible, but he ignored him entirely, instead sinking to his knees in front of her. "Detective, _ Chloe..." _ he whispered, pulling her carefully into his arms.

Her head was _ so _ heavy, but he was there to catch her as she slipped forward, no longer able to hold herself up. Blood was still flowing steadily from her nose, and she sniffed instinctively, only to hiss from the sudden blinding pain.

“Shh, it’s alright, darling,” Lucifer said softly. She heard a rustle of fabric before Lucifer was wiping at her face with his pocket square, leaning her forward so the blood would pour from her nose instead of down her throat. The nausea that had come again started, slowly, to decrease.

“Ow,” Chloe said, distinctly.

“How are you feeling?” Lucifer asked.

“Everything hurts,” she said with a whimper.

He sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any more to offer you than cocaine, unless…?”

_ “No,” _ she said, letting her forehead fall against Lucifer’s shoulder, trying not to even consider the question fully lest she end up agreeing.

Lucifer brushed the hair from her face, wiped at the blood under her nose, and slowly rubbed sensation back into her wrists and shoulders until she finally felt okay enough to open her eyes. Lucifer’s face swam in front of her for a moment before it resolved.

“Hello, love,” Lucifer whispered, worry in the tightness of his jaw, but it released a little when she managed a small smile.

“H-hi…”

He kissed her forehead, and she shivered. She managed a few deep breaths before she felt comfortable asking him, “Did… you really steal evidence?”

Lucifer frowned. “Of course I did. For you I would do far worse. You know that.”

His words probably shouldn’t have spread warmth through her, considering all the things they implied, but she’d learned to simply accept these statements in the spirit in which they were given. He tried to gentle her, but she pushed up, staring him in the face with the last of her energy. “You have to put it back. We-we can’t jeopardize the case.”

Instead of looking confused or contrite or anything else she expected, he merely smiled. “Oh, my brave, but monumentally foolish detective. Did you really endanger your life to ensure that evidence would stay out of these miscreants’ hands?”

She slumped back against him, exhausted. “You’re one to talk.”

He chuckled, and reached into an interior pocket, pulling out a small handful of paper. “Chain of custody documents,” he announced proudly. “A little… smoothing by yours truly, and everything will sort itself out in the end.”

Chloe blinked. “But… you don’t lie. 

“‘Nobody sees. Nobody knows,’ he said, yes? Well… no one did see, and no one _ does _ know, yet. Besides”—and he lost his lightness—”you’re not bloody well ‘unharmed’, are you?”

“...no,” she conceded. Hell, her… actually, there were very few things that _ didn’t _hurt.

“Well, then,” Lucifer said brightly, picking her up careful so as not to jostle her. “I’ll text Daniel to come pick up our criminals, but let’s get you to a hospital, hmm?”

As they stepped out into the well-lit night, Chloe sighed and pressed her cheek against Lucifer’s chest. She could rest, now, and trust he’d take care of her. His wings unfurled with a _ whoosh _ as they took to the skies, and she let her eyes drift closed.

“Maybe we should just stop trying to have dates,” she muttered.

And Lucifer’s surprised laugh mixed with the rush of flight.


End file.
